I've been in New York for the past week, eating my way through the city. I've raised my blood sugar with cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery, endured delicious torture at Babbo, endured the sight of the autographed Louie Anderson photo in my booth at John's Pizzeria, crunched on pig's ears at the Spotted Pig, and dined at both Lupa and Prune.
Needless to say, restaurants are my thing. Of course, I find it interesting that Michelin just came out with their first West Coast edition of restaurant star ratings. What took them so long?
Getting just one Michelin star is a big deal; getting three christens you as culinary god. So the French Laundry, according to Michelin, is pretty much mecca of culinary delights, giving it three stars; the only restaurant in the West Coast Edition guide to get three stars. Great. Now it'll take about two years to get a table there.
Chez Panisse is conspicuously absent from the list. I'm not surprised, though. Last time I was there a few months ago, I wasn't really blown away. It was great, but not truly spectacular or revelatory.
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